


Pasodoble

by thrilljoy



Series: Quote Rhink [1]
Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Federico García Lorca - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Light Smut, M/M, Pablo Neruda - Freeform, college!rhink, pining!Link, pop punk/emo mixtape overlay, rhink, study abroad!link
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24703042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thrilljoy/pseuds/thrilljoy
Summary: Link confesses, Rhett sputters, Link runs to Spain for a semester; back on campus... will they?Link's hair goes down - but no wings, Rhett's hair goes up.Unbetaed- open to thoughts/suggestions!!
Relationships: Link Neal/Josh Scherer, Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Series: Quote Rhink [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785898
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

_ “I think the sirens in the Odyssey sang the Odyssey, for there is nothing more seductive, more terrible, than the story of your own life, the one we do not want to hear and will do anything to listen to _ .” - Mary Ruefle, Destruction

_ “It requires wisdom to understand wisdom: the music is nothing if the audience is deaf.” _ \- Walter Lippmann

He’d gone and done it. 

Gone and done the most final of finalities. He’d signed up for a semester abroad. He’d felt sordid, depraved, ashamed. Had broken the code. The ultimate no-no: he’d confessed his feelings. Done the very thing he’d agreed not to. He’d fallen for him. And he didn’t feel the same way. Lorca said,  _ “To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.” _ Surely, this was worse! Lorca was always pining or being pined after, he’d never had his heart ripped up and stomped on, then kicked across the room like a ball of stinking, oozing ick. What did he know anyways?

Oh gosh, the look of pained shame and disappointment on Rhett’s face as Link had tried to form the words. At first plodding and heavily self-edited; then as if a leak had sprung and then surged, he’d sprayed his lovesick longing and yearning all over Rhett, soaking everything to the quick. And oh, the rickety ledge, the precarious perch - the cliff! He’d been on it alone. Cowering, simpering, all but pleading for company out there. Even after all these months, wrapped up in each other, countless texts and facetimes and nights in Rhett’s dorm sharing secrets and intimate moments, flashes of sweet domesticity and their bodies crashing together, making heat, making music, making new language and expressions, even after all that!? Rhett had felt nothing? How? Was he made of stone? Link had felt rejected on a cellular level. Why had he thought he could convince Rhett otherwise; to renege on their deal and allow himself to feel something. To sink into it. Wasn’t it warm? Wasn’t it lovely? La douleur exquise - didn’t it burn so good? 

Link thought if just by being himself and pulling Rhett into his orbit, he would want to stick around, circling each other, being each other’s moons. Heck, even Pluto secretly wants to come into the fold, wants to be Mercury, so red, so close, so hot. Atmosphere blown away, all core and molten. Heat as hot as the sun itself. He would have settled for Earth - a perfect balance, warm, variegated, able to sustain life. Hell, even Mars would have sufficed. Mars - the backup plan, the third beer*. But he wasn’t even on the map? Cruel... Was that the word for it!?

Surely he’d never made anyone feel like this before. People’d had crushes on him in the past, sure, and some trysts had been just sex or just kissing and necking and caresses and tenderness. They’d each served their purpose and then drifted… petered out. But this. This pain was new. The uncertainty was crushing. The unrequited love - he was hulled, a husk. Scooped out all the warm, soft flesh and left with the dregs, fibrous and bitter. Hadn’t they been ablaze, fire untapped and all-consuming? Had he missed something? Rhett pulling away? More requests for space. To take it slow, to cool off... no, nothing. Or had he done the unthinkable by merely stating the obvious? The crime of putting into words what was wordlessly acknowledged and skirted around. Like the spider allowed to remain because it killed the sniping mosquitoes. 

Link had watched Rhett sputter and blink, stunned, fumbling for words as if amnesic. He’d thrown on his clothes and scooped up his backpack, hoodie and last shred of dignity and torn out of Rhett’s room. Indignantly wishing for rain or some other tragedy to punctuate his lowest of lows. No such luck. Clear night, crisp breeze, crunch of leaves, sweet smell of early fall. It was fucking idyllic. He willed the tears not to come until he was safely behind his door, under a mountain of pillows and his blanket. They hit the second he tapped his ID on the door. He succumbed to that prickle behind his eyes and that pressure in his nose and let the tears fall, a sniffly, weepy affair. He crumpled on the floor and stayed there all weekend, crying and retching. His body violently trying to exorcise him of Rhett. But oh, the memories, that caress, that arch, the crescendo of groans and shivers, a hand grasping for a pillow, sheets, a shoulder, the crook of an elbow. He’d felt seen, understood, appreciated - sexy, even - and he knew he’d made Rhett feel the same and more. It wasn’t fair. 

***

Sunday evening he scraped himself from the floor, sipped some water and made noodles, showered unblinking, the water near-scalding. He cut his hair, shaved his stubble, did laundry. Going through the motions. 

Monday morning he was at the Registrar’s office. He was in ‘luck!’ There was still time. Spain’s semesters started later, one student had dropped out. He had a few days to get his stuff in order and then be on a plane. He wasn’t going to tell Rhett but they shared a friend group, some mutuals at the periphery - he’d probably find out anyway and could do with that information whatever the hell he wanted. Link shopped and packed, planned to stash things at Gregg’s suite, sent some stuff back home. His last night, games at Gregg’s before a quick quiet drink - or so he thought. 

“Surprise!” His friends yelled when Gregg opened the door to his suite. He was floored. There were even a stack of gifts in the corner. Some last minute things they thought he’d need... and snacks, and best of all, cash! He hugged and thanked each person. Ate spaghetti, meatballs, and cake, and drank beer. The party thinned a bit and the remaining students trooped to Arnie’s for darts, billiards, pong, corn hole - possibly some dancing. Link spotted Rhett enter. He ducked, sure he hadn’t been spotted. He crawled to Gregg, pulling on his pant leg, startling him. Gregg shrieked.

“Shhhhh,” Link hissed. “Do you see him?” He whisper-yelled, trying to be heard over the din of the bar.

“Who?” Gregg queried, a look of bewilderment on his face Link couldn’t tell was real or put on.

“Rhett!” 

“Oh,” Gregg darted his eyes around the place. “Naw man, I think you’re seeing things. You drunk?”

“No. Shit! I know I saw him.”

“Dude, you’re losing it. I didn’t invite him. He wouldn’t know about this.”

That calmed Link... a little.

He stood, only now caring that he’d been crawling along the filthy floor on his hands and knees. “Ick.” He moved through the crowd on his way to the restroom. He signaled to the bartender for another beer. There was no line for the restroom but it was occupied. He slumped against the wall, his eyes closed, counting to 10 and visualizing his happy place - well, new happy place - in his head.

“Link?” A voice he’d recognize anywhere. 

No. No fucking way. His knees went to jelly. His stomach flipped, warmth in the pit of his belly, chills. A flare of anger and self-pity. It was all too much! His hands were filthy, gunk on the knees of his pants, his hair was probably out of place and now this. Rhett. Here. Now! No. Not fucking fair. 

“Link?” Rhett repeated. Right, his eyes were still squeezed shut. 

He uncurled the fists he hadn’t realized he’d made and willed himself to open his eyes. Not tilting his head up, refusing to make eye contact. Instead, he pointed at the door. “You done in there?” He shoved past Rhett, his brain trying to ignore the light brush of fingers on his arm, though the goosebumps betrayed him. He locked the door and slumped against it. Why?

He scrubbed his hands, cleaned the knee of his black jeans and ran cool water on his face. His hair was fine. He looked flushed, eyes a little low from the booze but he was barely tipsy. A couple of deep breaths and he opened the door. Half expecting, half hoping Rhett would be waiting, ready to talk. The corridor was empty. He deflated. “Fuck it.” His last night in the states, he could do one more drink then take his presents and re-pack, get a good night’s sleep and be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for his transatlantic flight. 

“On the house, birthday boy!” The bartender exclaimed when he claimed his beer. And then there it was: the brush of fingers on his tummy. Rhett.

“Can we talk? Outside?”

Link swatted the hand away, a belated and half-hearted motion. Rhett was already walking toward the door. So self-assured and in control. Link was being dragged along in this, wasn’t he? They weren’t orbiting each other. He was orbiting Rhett. Effusive, charismatic, magnanimous, sun Rhett. And him, the craggy, shaggy little moon; a piddling, one-in-a-million hoping for a little shine and a fuck or two. He was pathetic. Now, he really felt stupid. All the mopey pity was replaced with anger. He was always the sidekick, the Robin to Batman, the little lamb to Mary, the Bert to Ernie. Get a new shtick, jeez.

In that moment, he chose to walk in the opposite direction. Back to his friends. Back to the people who cared about him and accepted and deserved his love and adoration. He didn’t follow Rhett. Did not go gentle into that good night. Goodbye and good riddance. With any luck that rain he’d been deprived of would strike now and drench the smug bastard.

Mixtape:  [ Good Riddance (Time of your Life)  ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CnQ8N1KacJc) \- Green Day,  [ For What It’s Worth  ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=89CEJAB0bIE) \- Amber Pacific,  [ Pompeii ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F90Cw4l-8NY) \- Bastille

*The third beer:  _ “She was the third beer. Not the first one, which the throat receives with almost tearful gratitude; nor the second, that confirms and extends the pleasure of the first. But the third, the one you drink because it’s there, because it can’t hurt, and because what difference does it make?” _ \- Toni Morrison. 


	2. Chapter 2

_“This is the only story of mine whose moral I know. I don’t think it’s a marvelous moral; I simply happen to know what it is: We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”_ Kirt Vonnegut, Mother Night.

Link touched down in a cold and rainy Spain. The new jacket he’d been gifted from R.E.I. with the hidden hood put to good use as the group ran for the Complutense University shuttle that was to whizz them to the residence halls. Just his luck, he and Josh - another exchange student from NC State - would both be in Nebrija Hall. They became fast friends, exploring the city together. Josh cooked for Link - part of his Spanish stint was to take classes at the Madrid Cordon Bleu and bartend on the weekends. Link would go to the discoteca where Josh worked during his shifts. He’d dance and flirt but it wasn’t the same. After weeks of ribbing and jokes he finally brought a guy home. Josh had been happy for him, and then slowly they did the dance that was all too familiar to Link. Fleeting glances, closing the space between them, until eventually they fell into bed together. Link tried his best not to get caught up - keeping Rhett in mind as a constant reminder of what not to do. He kept it light, fun. But soon it was Josh pouring his heart out to Link on one of their final nights in the glorious city, days before they were set to return home for Christmas break. 

He tried in earnest to correct Josh. No, there wasn’t someone else. No, this wasn’t about Rhett. No, no, no, he wasn’t still in love with him. And besides, they’d made no promises, it was supposed to be fun. Sure, he’d conceded, Josh couldn’t help how he felt but why didn’t he say something sooner? If Link could have hovered over himself and seen the scene as a third party observer, whose side would he have chosen? And how much would he have reminded himself of Rhett? He tried to apologize but the words sounded foolish, hanging hollow in the stale space between them. He tried to touch Josh but he recoiled. Josh asked him to leave; Link begged to stay, wanting to talk more, to convince him? 

“No. Please leave. It’s fine.”

‘It’s fine.’ Hadn’t he said that? And hadn’t it been a lie then, too?

Madrid was colder and darker without Josh by his side. He felt more like he was haunting the city those last few days, droning from shop to shop finally picking out gifts for family and friends, getting the obligatory key chains and shot glasses, chocolate and coffee. One knick-knack caught his eye. He purchased it. For no one in particular, he convinced himself. A wooden bull, up on its haunches, it’s eyes a’flash. Link couldn’t tell if the expression was power... or fear. If the animal was backed into a corner... or poised to trample. A moment frozen in time. Link was haunted by it. He thought of Mejias who he’d learned about in a class this semester, the great bullfighter. Lorca’s ode to his death, the repetition and resonance of ‘[ a las cinco de la tarde’ ](http://www.cervantesvirtual.com/obra-visor/llanto-por-ignacio-sanchez-mejias-785143/html/e0c85a1b-ec35-497d-b4c9-b11bcc62d25f_2.html) \- at five in the afternoon - droning like a drumbeat. 

_“The wounds were burning like suns  
_ _at five in the afternoon,  
_ _... The rest was death, and death alone  
_ _at five in the afternoon_.”

‘The rest was death and death alone.’ Once again he felt like he was running from a carcass of a promising thing. Once again unspoken promises, crossed signals. Was he a bad guy? Or did he just not know how to read people? Wasn’t there something in Law about how you couldn’t be absolved of a crime just for not knowing it was wrong. Was that him? Had he hurt Josh simply by not knowing? And what about Rhett? He’d been ready to talk that night... Had Link hurt him too? Preferring in that moment to be the one wielding the sword, doling out punishments, rather than being at the other end of it, feeling its bite, seeing the trickle of blood?

Mixtape: [ Sugar, We’re Goin Down ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uhG-vLZrb-g) \- Fall Out Boy, [ crushcrushcrush ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ei8hPkyJ0bU) \- Paramore, [ Oh Devil ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWc9hvNV3ko) \- Electric Guest

*

 _Nothing is so difficult as not deceiving oneself._ Ludwig Wittgenstein, Culture and Value

Home was a blur of gifts and family and food, video games and old friends. He visited Gregg at his childhood home. One of their final nights of break - Christmas and New Year’s behind them - Gregg threw a house party. A heads up that Rhett would be there. That was fine with Link. They could be friends... or whatever. It was time. He’d moved on. Seriously.

Still didn’t stop him from putting on the tight black turtleneck and black jeans frayed at the knee, and his new kicks. Chapstick in his back pocket. Hair longer, enough to put in a ponytail or samurai bun. A new look. Some stubble... definition in his arms. He felt older, worldly - like a new man. A man. When had he stopped thinking of himself as a boy? He drove his new car to the party - well his mother’s old car but his now, a cute little Prius. He had a stack of gifts from Spain. A number of them for Gregg alone. The party was well under way, Link wove through the crowd, telling each person his one obligatory Spain story and handing over the little gift. He stopped in front of Gregg and pulled him into a hug.

“Missed ya!” Sure they’d kept in touch all semester, Gregg all caught up on the Josh situation. Link more than ready to meet Gregg’s new gal, Ellie. Gregg pointed her out. “Dude, she’s such a babe! Got a little of that 80s beauty queen vibe in the face.”

“Right!” Gregg’s grin split his face in half, ear to ear. 

Link was introduced officially - though they had chatted here and there while Link and Gregg had been on their nightly calls. Link settled on the porch swing, a drink in hand, a book of poetry. Then, a hand obstructing the words. He knew that hand, those fingers, that one funny knuckle. 

“Link?”

He looked up, this time making eye contact. Even a smile.

“Wow, I thought that was you. You’re back. Gregg said your flight was delayed and you might not make it but... here you are.” A sheepish smile.

“Rhett, you want anything hun?” A girl’s voice called from the kitchen.

Hun? Oh so that was it. Of course.

Rhett cleared his throat. “Yeah,” his voice cracked, “Corona! You want anything Link?”

Link pursed his lips in thought and exasperation, “Yeah, gimme a Corona too.”

Rhett called out his order and sat beside him on the swing.

“So, Spain, huh? I didn’t - didn’t know you wanted to travel like that... that was, uh-“

“Yeah... spur of the moment.” Link gave him a tight smile

“And you’re back for... what? The holiday and then... and then back to Spain?”

“Don’t know yet.” A lie. But he was enjoying watching Rhett squirm.

“Oh.” His little pink lips a faint oh under his bushy beard.

“This is new,” Link raked his fingers through the wild beard. “Hrrrr,” he grumbled, trying his best at a caveman impression.

Rhett’s eyes went wide and he dissolved into cackles. “Oh man,” he wheezed, clutching at his stomach. “I freaking missed you.”

Link frowned - not quite sure how to respond. The blonde appeared with their drinks, a smug smile on her face as she handed one over to Link and sank down into Rhett’s lap. His arms snaked around her waist, and she tipped the drink to his lips. 

Link snapped his book shut and disappeared back into the house. Slamming the door open and closed. “Missed me, huh! Right!” A little louder than he’d expected. He grumbled to himself quietly as he stormed up the steps to Gregg’s room. He flopped on his bed, resuming his book.

“ _The boy looks and looks  
_ _the boy looks at the Moon  
_ _...The wind watches watches  
_ _the wind watches the Moon_

-Federico Garcia Lorca, Moon Moon

How he felt, once again. A spectator in his own life. In less than 10 words Rhett had managed to build him up and rip that one Jenga piece out from his base and send him tumbling. How the fuck was this happening again?!

Mixtape: [ Time Away From Home ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfJp1s9i1rE) \- Summer Salt, [ That’s What You Get ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1kz6hNDlEEg) \- Paramore, [ Drugs & Candy ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzueOh-d15M) \- All Time Low


	3. Chapter 3

_“In the branches of the laurel tree_ _I saw two naked doves. One was the other and both were none.” -Federico Garcia Lorca, Of the Dark Doves_

Back on campus; classes in full swing; Link thrown into his studies. Finally coming up for air in early-Feb after Rush, now amidst the first good parties of the year when the new initiates finally got their letters. He accompanied Gregg and co. to a rager at the Gamma house. Link not one for all the Greek monikers, Gamma something. Thrifted wool coat, thrifted long sleeve band tee, ripped skinny jeans, high tops, beard grown out a little more than stubble, hair still long, curling and wavy, piled atop his head. 

Josh crashes into him as he’s refilling drinks. A fumble of arms and lips wet and heavy on his. Starved for touch and attention he falls into it. Link lets himself be led wordlessly to a room. Josh marvels at his new look, roves his hands over his body, the muscles, the shoulders, the stubble, the hair freed from the vice group of an ouchless hair tie, fingers scratching gently at his scalp, pulling at his curls, growls in his neck, his shirt raked up to reveal his tummy, tender nibbles and kisses, deft hands undoing his jeans, shimmying them off. Hips rutting against him. He unbuttons Josh’s shirt, blooms small hickies on his neck and chest. Josh wants him, wants him to feel good. Josh on his knees - Link pushed backwards onto a bed - mouth sloppy and frantic and pleading, hands a blur bringing Link to the edge once, twice, again as slicked fingers play with his rim then push in. Their moans louder, he’s filled. Josh bottoms out, finds a rhythm that has Link mewling and begging for speed and pressure; faster, harder. Josh takes his time, stroking Link in time to the thrusts, an assault on all fronts. He’s falling apart again and Josh is just getting started. Wants him spent and panting. He thinks he’ll black out if he cums again so soon. He whines - nearly begging - for reprieve. Josh is unrelenting, his belly sticky with Link’s cum as he chases his orgasm. Link is on him taking him into his mouth, going slack jawed and letting Josh fuck in. Curses and moans as he cums, Link swallows every drop. They clean up, sneak into the bathroom for water and wet towels. Spritz of pilfered body spray then Josh is gone. Little need for conversation beside pleas and commands. 

Link takes a disco nap, awaking thirsty and a bit disoriented but remembering quickly what had transpired. 

Back in the kitchen he pours water into a red Solo, downs it and refills, on the hunt for Gregg. He finds him playing cornhole. 

“Dude, where were you? You missed a killer pong battle.” 

“Oh, I’ll uh - I’ll tell you later.” He tried to keep his face blank. 

“Oh, did Rhett find you?” 

“What? No!” Incredulity apparent in his voice. 

“Oh, ok ... cuz he’s here.” 

“Hmm... I didn’t see him. Did he...? You know.... did he, uh... bring... someone?” 

“Nope, he looked like he was alone.” Gregg gave him a hopeful smile.

“I’ll, uh - I’ll do a lap.” Link scratched his head. 

No idea where he was going, he wandered from room to room, searching for that familiar mop of dirty blonde hair, or the booming voice. Nada. He completed his loop back at cornhole, Gregg and Ellie still playing a lively game with a new set of competitors. “I’m gonna head out, guys. I’ll catch y’all later. This was fun!” A smile for emphasis. He was tired but didn’t want Gregg to worry. He hugged them both and went on the hunt for his coat. Just his luck he stumbled upon Rhett coming in as he was leaving. 

“Hey boy-o, long time no see-ee,” Rhett drawled, his eyes glassy, whiskey on his breath. But he stood straight and his cheeks weren’t too flushed. “Where ya - where ya going. Did Gregg tell you I’s lookaforya?” He closed the distance between them, trying to scoop Link into a hug. 

“Where ya coming from, Rhett?” He asked as he stepped back from the embrace, guiding Rhett in from the cold, bracing him against the kitchen counter. 

“We went to Kappa ferabitbut the- the party’s here.” 

“Who’s we?” Link asked, bemused. Rhett was completely alone, jeez how sloshed was he?

Rhett spun around, comically, arms flailing to settle back at his sides. “Oh.” He said, voice pitched and confused. “I swear they were right behind me.” 

“Oh yeah? But you’re a tall fella.” Link smirked. “Were you taking Rhett steps or normal steps.” 

He nodded conspiratorially, “Rhett steps. I was on a mission.” He staggered over to Link and leaned in close. “Ask me what my mission was.” 

“No.” Link gave him a weary smile and shook his head. He couldn’t do this. 

Rhett frowned and pouted. “C’mon big guy, ask me.” 

“Big guy?” Link cocked his head. 

“Yeah, big guy,” He repeated, dragging his eyes down then up Link’s frame. Punctuating the ogle with a wink, “You know why.” He wasn’t usually this flirty with Link in public, and sure the kitchen was empty now but someone could walk in. He must be more zonked than Link had thought. 

Link blushed. “Rhett have you eaten?” 

“Why?” 

“Cause I know you and this is different. You’re drunk.” 

“So?” His tone accusing and indignant now. Link had to switch tact. 

He threw his hands up in conciliation. “Hey, come grab a burger with me. We can go anywhere ya want.” 

“I wanna go to Whataburger but I shouldn’t drive.” 

“Duh! I can drive us.” 

Rhett cocked his eyebrows. “You wanna drive my truck.” 

“Or we could use my car. I have a car now.” Link smiled. 

Rhett raised his eyebrows in surprise, but remained adamant. “No, please - drive my truck. I like when it smells like you.” Gosh. 

“Ok.” 

They walked slowly to Rhett’s room to search for his keys. He plopped down on his bed instead. At least the room was clean. Little bits of ‘organized chaos’ as Rhett called it, here and there but it smelled good, window was open, sheets were clean. Rhett patted the bed beside him. “Memember this?” He asked, gazing up at Link with glassy eyes. 

“Focus bo. Keys!” He chuckled. 

“Oh bo!” Rhett exclaimed. “Bo bo bo. Call me bo again. Call me tall boy again. Call me Poo again. Call me... call me baby.” He begged, the nerve to put on a pout and puppy dog eyes. 

Link bargained with him. “Pick one and I’ll call you that name in the car.” 

“Two.” 

“Ok,” Link shrugged. At that Rhett fished in his pocket for the keys. 

“Tada.” He presented the keys to Link. 

“Baby and honey.” 

“Not honey,” Link said, his eyes flashing. Blondey McLap babe had called him hun that night. 

“Link McLaughlin, you will call me honey.” 

“No.” Smirking at the surname. What was Rhett up to?

“But I like it. When you say it. You say it the best.” 

That wasn’t making it better. “I’ll think about it. We said the car, remember?” 

“Yeah,” Rhett wined and stumbled toward the door. Link fished around in his mini fridge for some bottled water, nabbed two bottles and closed the window down a bit. He grabbed Rhett’s phone and ID and placed them in his own back pocket. He closed the door and jogged to catch up to Rhett who was already at the elevators. “Wait up, babe!” He called out. That was a bonus. 

Rhett flashed him the goofiest smile at that. 

“Seatbelt baby,” he said as they got in the car. The ride over was quick. Rhett inching his hand up Link’s thigh as he drove. Staring intently at his face, trying to see his reaction in the darkened car. 

45 minutes, a burger, fries and a milkshake made a world of difference. Rhett was closer to some semblance of himself. “Thanks, Link,” he smiled, lifting Link’s leg over his thigh, pulling him closer to him in the booth. They sat on the same side per usual. Feeding each other fries and nibbling bits of each other’s burgers. Old habits. A level of intimacy in everything they did. That was them. They sat in silence, Link finishing his huge burger. He’d foregone fries to save space for dessert. Rhett ever the hungry boy also ordered dessert. Waiting for Link to finish picking at his food like a bird, giving the food time to digest. Dessert arrived with cappuccino on the house. They sat in the diner until closing. Rhett double-fisting water and ginger ale. 

“You good to go?” Link asked. “We can sit in the truck until you’re ready?” 

Rhett nodded. Link paid and they were out to the car. Rhett reached for Link’s pinky but he skirted it, speeding up under the guise of chivalrously opening the door for Rhett. Catching his breath and stilling himself before he returned to the driver seat. 

“Play me a song you discovered while in Spain.” 

“What?” That had been one of their things. Thursdays when they’d used to meet up for a little bit of everything, they’d swapped quotes and music and tidbits from lecture over their meal, nestled into each other, plates on their laps, squished together in the middle of Rhett’s futon. 

“Come on, what’s a song you found?” 

“You first.” Link challenged playfully. 

“Kay.” Without missing a beat, “Look up [ Beijadamente Calculado ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qdhUUaPFn-4). It’s Portuguese.” 

The song was acoustic guitars, slow and folksy, two guys crooning. Link was hooked. There was passion and longing. Link googled the lyrics on his phone. 

Você foi deixando um sorriso e outro 

Uma peça de roupa e uma saudade boa 

Me deixando dependente da sua boca 

... Que cê entrou na minha vida e fez estrago 

... Como é que eu largo? 

_You were leaving a smile and another_

_A garment and a good longing_

_Making me dependent on your mouth_

_...You came into my life and did damage_

_... how do I quit you?_

Jeez. He could have gotten his point across with Celine Dion It’s All Coming Back to Me Now. Didn’t need to hide it in Portuguese. Though the song was beautiful. 

Rhett smirked. “Did you look it up?” 

Link nodded. 

“Your turn.” He nudged Link. 

Link teed up his song. Two could play that game. “[ Tan Kalakatan ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nTrtasaAO1A)by Mayra Andrade.* She’s from Cape Verde.” 

Bu spádja... 

Kantu n txiga kaza 

N kon kon kon kon kon kon 

Nada n ka atxa... 

Bem, ma bem, ko bai nau iau 

Kel tórtu ki n fazi, n ta txapa fépu 

Ta fika bunitu sima nu staba, ta fika bem... 

Link watched with a smirk as Rhett scrambled to find his phone. Patting his pockets and the seat beneath him. Link fished it out from his back pocket. “Looking for this, hon?” He smiled. Rhett snatched it playfully. 

“Spell it....?” 

_You up and left..._

_When I got home_

_I knocked and knocked and knocked_

_but there was nothing in the house..._

_Come, but come and don’t go._

_I’ll fix what I did wrong and make it beautiful._

_Just like it was before, everything will be alright._

“I feel like we’re the reverse. Like your song is what I-“ Rhett’s eyes went wide and he clapped his hands over his mouth. “Drive!” He squeaked through the prison of fingers he’d constructed over his mouth. Too chickenshit to finish his sentence now that he no longer had whiskey courage. Link smirked.

* 

_“The moon is dead dead — it will come back to life in the spring when our hearts yield their harvest of sighs.”_ \- Federico Garcia Lorca, Two Evening Moons 

Back on campus Link put the truck in park and turned toward Rhett. “You wanna take a walk or something. Get some fresh air on your face, get your blood moving?” 

“Nah, I’ll be fine. Food helped.” He gave Link a half smile. 

“Okay. Good.” Link handed him the keys, and fished his ID from the back pocket of his jeans. “Didn’t want you to forget that... or lose it.” 

Rhett slapped his palm to his forehead and fumbled for the door handle, “Shucks.” His voice fading as the door closed behind him. He leaned his back against the car door and waited for Link, who walked around the truck and reached out for a hug. 

“Good night, buddy. Get some rest.” 

“Wha- you’re not...” Rhett frowned. 

“No, I’m going to my dorm. Just wanted to make sure you were good, and fed.” 

“But - come on. Open invitation.” 

“Raincheck. I didn’t have the night you think I had. I need to clean my like, entire body, and I want to change out of these clothes,” he slapped his thighs. “And I want to sleep for like four days.” 

“You can do all that upstairs. I- uh… I still have clothes for you, a toothpaste, toothbrush, mouthwash, hair stuff...all in a neat little box. You … you didn’t take everything.” 

Yet it had come as a surprise that Link was swimming in it!? Had come absolutely out of left field? Right? Not surprisingly, he didn’t take much convincing. He took all the stuff with him to the shower and came back dressed. Rhett took his stuff and showered. Giggling at Link fussing with his hair in the mirror when he returned. 

“What the heck are you trying to do.” He asked, towel low on his hips, that V, that broad chest, chiseled shoulders. Ever the tease. 

“Two braids and then a bun, keeps it off my neck and helps it not to tangle. Trick I learned in Spain. 

Rhett smirked. “Let me help you.” 

Link looked him up and down, wordlessly challenging the whole towel situation. 

“What... this?” He dropped it. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before buddyroll. In fact, you could tell me better’n anybody... in fact, better than I could tell myself, if anything’s changed.” He waggled his hips. Link wanted to look away, to not be so thirsty, but the view. Who could look away. Everything about him was limber and thick and meaty, gosh. _Fuck_. 

“Quit it,” he whined, back to fumbling in his hair. Averting his gaze. Rhett took a step closer. “Seriously, stop.” Rhett faltered. 

“What? Is this about Josh?” Of course he knew about Josh, had probably pried it out of Gregg!

The nerve. The gall. “No, it’s about you and me and me saying: quit it.” 

Rhett turned and fished boxers from his drawer. “Happy?” He rolled his eyes. But still sat on the futon next to Link and took the other section of hair into his hands and braided. Link wrapped everything in a bun. Rhett trailed a finger down Link’s neck.

Link slumped and let his head fall into his palm. “Rhetttt.” The fingers trailed down his back, curlicues and zig zags on their way down. 

Link pushed him away. “Rhett, we need to talk about this.” 

“Do we haaaave to? Talking messed us up.” 

Link felt the heat rising. He couldn’t let that go. Rhett didn’t get to volley that charge at him, the blame resting solely at Link’s feet for deigning to question and elucidate their situation or try to expand it. “No. No it didn’t. Talking did not mess us up. We were not on the same page. What did you want to say to me that night, huh?” 

“What night?” His hand on the bed behind Link, leaning into him. 

“At the bar. The night before...” 

Rhett scoffed. “Oh, ha!” _Was that sarcasm!?_ “The night before you went to Spain and every person in that bar knew but me? The night I stood and waited for you.” 

“How long, Rhett?” 

“What?” 

“How long did you wait? Two minutes, five minutes? Ten minutes? When did it become abundantly clear that I hadn’t just blindly followed you outside, huh? That maybe I had some say in anything?” 

“A minute-“

“Oh, a minute, folks!” Link exclaimed. “A full minute!? 60 seconds!” 

“That’s how long it took for people to come crashing out of the bar for a cig, talking about Link and Spain. Madrid. A semester. So happy for you! Another 59, I sat stunned.” 

Hyperbole; surely. Link couldn’t feel bad for him. He just physically didn’t have it in him. He couldn’t scrape the bottom of that barrel anymore, the dregs had long gone. It was dry dry, bone dry. He was numb to it now Any feeling he could conjure was pure reflex at this point, pure chemical reactions and biological imperatives, it wasn’t him, it was his circuitry. He was inured to it. It was rote. Rhett was right, he was wrong, accommodate. Accommodate. Accommodate. He was another fuck doll in Rhett’s arsenal of pretty people. But he’d gained sentience and a fucking backbone and this was Rhett’s response. This was a power struggle. This wasn’t love, lust or passion. This was politics. And he didn’t want it. Any of it. 

“I’m not apologizing.” He folded his arms and scooted away from Rhett. “You could have looked back at anytime and seen I wasn’t behind you. You could have called me at anytime that week or the last five months, Rhett. My number didn’t change.” He stood up and pulled on the hoodie he’d left and the sweats. Started piling his things into the box. “I’m calling the party van-“ (the students name for the all-night shuttle). 

“Link, come on. Don’t go.” 

“What do you want from me? You had no intention of talking tonight. You were blitzed and all over me. We would have fucked and then what?! One of us happens to wake up first, disappear into campus life and then repeat it at a Frat Formal in March? No.” He dropped the box. “I worked so hard to forget you!” 

Rhett looked wounded at that. He inhaled sharply. “Link. You know I’m not good at-“ 

“Save it, Rhett!” He couldn’t hear another excuse from Rhett. He was spiraling. He felt stupid and the tears were already coming and he was worked up from those stupid songs and all the cowardice and games. He could not do this here. Could not dissolve into a weepy puddle on the floor of Rhett’s dorm. He shoved on his shoes and his coat and snatched up the box and slammed the door behind him. 

The elevator took its sweet time. Damn near 20 minutes he waited with his heavy box of odds and ends. 2AM - most campus parties were ending and drunk students were milling into the dorms. The elevator stopped at every goddamned floor! On the ground floor waiting by the door he caught his breath and shook out the tension of the conversation and the annoyance of the elevator mayhem. In the hubbub he’d forgotten to actually call the party van. He fumbled for his phone to make the call but it wasn’t in his coat pockets. He rifled through the box, vaguely remembering throwing random stuff in there in his haste - not there either. 

“FUCK!!!!!!” He bellowed into the petty void. Never one to get away with a perfect dramatic exit. No pity rain when he needed it, no spiteful rain when he commanded it, and now, no clean getaway. He picked up the freaking box and spun on his heels, retracing his steps to the elevator. 

Back on Rhett’s floor, in front of his door Link tamped down his ego and marshaled up all his self-respect and self-control, going with a light knock on the door. “Rhett... my phone.” 

No response. 

He knocked harder. “Rhett, come on.” 

Rhett opened the door. Link let it close softly behind him, the light from the hallway seeping in under the door not enough to help him find his phone in the darkened room. He heard Rhett plop back onto his bed. 

“Can I turn the light back on?” Terse, more a command than a question.

“Whatever.” Link could hear a faint sniffle, and a shuffle as Rhett shifted his position in the bed. 

“Rhett, are you-“ 

“You came back for your phone, right?” His voice quivered despite the venom behind it. 

“Yeah.” He decided to fumble around for it in the dark, it had to be on the floor by the futon or something. He found it - surely Rhett’s desk was not the last place he’d placed it - and slipped it into his pocket. But what about Rhett? He opened the door, waited a beat and then closed it gently behind him - not leaving the room, just standing silently by the door. Rhett turned in bed. Busted. Link cut on the light. Rhett’s face was red, his cheeks streaked with tears. 

“Rhett.” Link moped at him. “What’s going on?” 

“I was gonna tell you that I was an idiot and that if I had any sense I could see that I had the same feelings but I wanted to stay as we were and not turn up the heat in case we lost all the good we had but then you didn’t come outside and then Spain and you never called or texted or even subtweeted me. You didn’t listen to any sad songs. It felt like it didn’t even mean anything.” 

Yeah so what, he didn’t do the 2019 cliche breakup things. But he did other things. He read poetry, he wrote poetry, he wailed on his guitar. He listened to his sad songs on Spotify on Private. On YouTube. He didn’t tweet anything, at all. He journalled. He didn’t make a show of his pain and for that Rhett had punished him even more!? The games! 

“I did. I mourned you. I mourned us. In my own way. I read poetry, I-“ 

“What poetry?” 

What a sadistic question. What a narcissistic, self-serving question. “No way.” 

“What poetry?” Rhett shifted. 

“Neruda.” He clipped.

“What? Ner- He writes a bunch of love stuff... I di- where’s the pain in that?” 

Where’s the pain, huh? 

“ _So I wait for you. I wait for you like a lonely house, till you see me again and live in me. Until then my windows ache_ .”* That one had been poignant for him. “ _I drift between this point and that, absorbing illusions._ ”** Those words had so perfectly summed up his situation they’d left him stunned. Rhett frowned. “ _Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed._ ”*** His favorite: “ _We found each other hungry and we bit each other as fire bites, leaving wounds in us_ .****” A narrative was forming. Link couldn’t stop himself, the piece de la resistance: “ _And every wound has the shape of your mouth_ -“***** 

*Sonnet LXV 

**Dream Horse,” Five Decades: Poems, 1925-1970 

*** XIV Every Day You Play,” Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair 

**** Absence 

*****Fragmento de La tierra, Los versos del capitán (1951-1952). 

“Stop.” 

Link shot him a wry, cocky smile. “Rhett, what are you afraid of? That eventually someone is gonna want more from you than sex and you’re gonna have to live up to, what? Their expectations for you? Your expectations for yourself? That someone’s gonna be there for all the good times and see the bad times? Like when you flunk a test, or when that paper isn’t good, or god forbid, sees your shitty first draft!? You’re not a robot. Stop pushing me away! You let me in without realizing it and then I told on you and so you punished me, is that it?” 

_“You caught me, guilty taking the pieces of you. That night, you took flight,_

_I couldn't decide what to do... Please sleep softly_

_Leave me no- Please sleep softly, Leave me no room for doubt.”*_

*Lianne la Havas, [ No Room for Doubt ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pBCt5nfsZ30). 

That song on replay so many times he’d started vocalizing the melody; had transcended the words. It had become pure sadness and stillness to him. Rhett was afraid of being seen fully, of someone finding his cracks and edges. Something or someone had him wound so tight, he was afraid to crack or break. But all the beauty Link ever loved was _wabi-sabi_. Who wanted perfection, all bleached, plucked, feathered, deboned, glossed and arranged just so, like a Thanksgiving turkey. 

All this for coming clean? He hadn’t even admitted that he loved Rhett. That he had been - and still was, if he was honest - in love with Rhett. 

No response. Rhett looked glum. His mossy green eyes were cloudy and distant, looking through Link. Another far off look - gobsmacked, dumbfounded … like a fucking deer in headlights… he couldn’t do this. Not again. Rhett wasn’t ready for this conversation. Perhaps he’d never be. And in all this Link had debased himself… again! Was sounding like a madman; a stalker! Rhett was so afraid of his feelings, it made Link seem predatory and greedy in expressing his. Rhett - though a cowering, shivering mass in the corner - had staked his position as the middle, by refusing to engage, there was no ‘yes’ or ‘no’ - no absolute to offer polarity or resolution… or closure… or some fantastic other possibility… and Link was so left of that center - planted firmly and rooted though he thought he’d choked everything, including the weeds - he was off the stage - this couldn’t work. 

Link closed the door softly behind him. Vowing again to never play that sad, broken record, that weepy, simpering tune, to keep his cards close to his chest, not play his full hand. He didn’t harden - he didn’t want cynicism, he still wanted love and the butterflies of romantic uncertainty - but he did steel himself, and held a piece of himself back on reserve. He couldn’t … wouldn’t give everything anymore. Back at his dorm the box was thrown into a corner, and forgotten. Not thrown… of course, rather placed, in a corner, in the closet. The clothes smelled like Rhett and his room, he almost considered throwing them out but Sue would tan his hide if she knew he’d resorted to wastefulness to make some dramatic statement to himself about heartbreak. 

Song: [ Viva la Vida ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dvgZkm1xWPE) \- Coldplay, [ I Miss You ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s1tAYmMjLdY) \- Blink-182, [ Quicksand ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h3L-xm7bs34) \- The Story So Far


	4. Chapter 4

_ “As I have not worried to be born, I do not worry to die.” - Federico Garcia Lorca  _

_ “Although I may not be yours, I can never be another's.” _ \- Mary Shelley, from a letter to Percy Bysshe Shelley written c. July 1814

True to his prediction their paths crossed again at a March Formal. He’d caught sight of Rhett around campus here or there. In the dining hall one day - a nod but not registering an ounce of emotion; playing pool at a frat the next. Out bowling with friends of friends a couple weeks later - they kept their orbits and berths wide. And there was that one particularly snoresome talk by some pundit or other - but extra credit and impressing the Professor with the pipeline to his dream internship was on the line so he nursed his Red Bull and slapped his cheeks - he could see Rhett struggling a few rows down to his right. Never anything substantial. Except maybe at the Open Mic Night where he thought Rhett made some prolonged and meaningful eye contact with him from the stage, and was possibly weaving through the crowd toward him after but he grabbed Gregg and pulled him out of there and toward Arnie’s to get lost in a drink and a different crowd. 

Fast forward to March, and Ellie couldn’t make it out so Link accompanied Gregg - now a member of Beta - to the Beta Formal co-hosted by Gamma Tau - their sister sorority. He’d had to rent a tux from ‘Suit Yourself’ in the Downtown Area - a formalwear crowdshare platform with a few brick and mortar locations started by former frat brothers on a rival NC campus. He opted for a navy slim cut suit and a blue shirt with flecks of gold. He and Gregg opted to pick each other’s bowties and pocket squares in lieu of corsages and he went with a Star Wars themed duo for the Jedi wannabe. Chucks would finish the look - so he could dance, and save money on the night - so he put some money toward a handle and two slim flasks - to take some of the edge off. The 6’7 dirty blond Rhettasaur was sure to be at this thing and Link would need a lot of liquid courage to cope. Not that he wasn’t over it … he wasn’t  _ not _ not over it… there were just little things that would flit back into his memory and he sometimes couldn’t tamp them down. And then there was the whole ‘no closure’ thing. And also Rhett never fully finishing his thought thing… And maybe Link was a little to blame in their impasse - because if fleeting glances told him anything, they were at an impasse. And so, yes, booze. Because he couldn’t make a scene, he wouldn’t make a scene. This night was about Gregg and friendship.

Link did a once-over in the mirror, snapped a selfie and texted Gregg he was on his way. His walk through campus toward Gregg’s dorm helped clear his head a bit and calmed his nerves. His post-Spain Lorca obsession, er-interest, was well known to Gregg, who went with a bull motif for Link’s bowtie-pocket square pairing. 

“Dude, these are handmade by this couple on Etsy - look at the quote on the card!”

_ “I am deliberate and afraid of nothing” _ \- Audre Lorde.

We figured with the bulls, this quote was fitting! 

Tag us on socials @mango_modal!

Link chuckled. He was getting there… slowly, deliberately… he was getting there. Sometimes he thought he was moving forward and something would catch him off guard and he felt like he was reverting, taking a few steps back, and then he would interrogate it and he would make forward progress again. It was his dance, his pasodoble. And Gregg was helping, though he didn’t want to burden him. Gregg had his own life, and Ellie, and needed Link to be his sounding board too. Link needed more friends, some self compassion, and maybe a nice long talk with his momma. 

The boys arrived at the house and socialized, exchanged compliments and posed for group pictures. Link took slow, deep breaths and tried to find his center. Casually looking over the shoulder of whomever he was talking to, he tried to covertly spot Rhett. If he could get a bead on him, he would know where not to look, and could reconfigure his field of vision accordingly. He couldn’t find that mop of hair or boisterous laugh, however. Maybe Rhett wasn’t here after all. With that, his shoulders relaxed - he hadn’t realized they’d been jacked up by his ears, he unbuttoned his jacket and sunk into his bones a little bit, became more present, felt his smiles reach his eyes and his laugh tickle his belly button. He was here. Now. 

After the pictures and polite socializing with peers and alumni, the party sat down for dinner. Link made conversation, riffing with Gregg and following his lead. Soon a glass was tinged, toasts were made, speeches and awards handed out and the alumni bid adieu. Now Phase Two began: drinks and shots were carted out - the exclusive party before the house opened up to the rest of campus later in the night. 

After a few shots Link was heating up, he took off his jacket - draping it carefully on the back of his seat - and loosened his bowtie. Gregg pulled him to the dance floor and the pair cut a rug. He was dragged off to play Pong, and then back to the dance floor. During a particularly raucous roust to Drake’s ‘In My Feelings,’ Link slipped on the wet floor - somehow it never took frat floors much time to be drenched in errant fluids - and was caught by Rhett … and his date. 

“Oh… I’m so sorry,” Link sputtered, his field of vision narrowing, “You know how these floors are. I’m so, so sorry. Did I spill?” He jostled the can in his hand. Giving Rhett’s date a onceover, then dragging his eyes down Rhett. “Impeccable,” he breathed, “Ha! You guys made it out okay! No spills!” He smiled. Could feel his cheeks rounding, pushing his glasses up - he was officially cheesing!

Rhett smirked, nodding toward the drink in Link’s hand, “Redd’s?” 

Link threw him a mock glare, “As opposed to..” Link twisted the drink in Rhett’s grip, “Oh c’mon --- White Claw! They got to you too?! Dude, you just ate - what - a steak, potatoes, some kind of jus and sauce, 2 desserts,” he turned to Rhett’s date, “He ate your dessert right, or rather “finished it!” Emphasizing his words with air quotes and another chortle. “And a White Claw is where you draw the line!”

Rhett chuckled - one could even say giggled. His date did the eyebrow cock, hair flip thing and Link got the message. He gave her a tight-lipped smile and nodded to Rhett. “Had a nice trip with you two!” Instant regret and shame, a prickle of sweat in his back as he turned from the pair and beelined through the crowd toward the nearest bathroom. In the mirror he doused his face and slicked stray strands back into his ponytail. He undid the blasted tie and stuffed it into his pocket. On second thought, he should secure it with the suit jacket and pocket square. 

He took the back stairs up toward the main floor and dining hall. He grabbed a bottle of water, and downed half by the time he found his seat. He slumped down and closed his eyes. The night was far from over, and he’d been having fun. The encounter with Rhett hadn’t been too bad. He could do this. This wasn’t so bad. The Imperial March - Gregg’s ringtone - blared and Link fished his phone from his pants pocket. “Where are you!” Gregg screamed into his ear. “I went to put my bowtie in my jacket. I’ll be right back.” He smiled, drunk Gregg was imminent. 

“Kay! We’re playing Cups, g’down here!” 

“Will do!” Link chirped. 

Link took the pocket square from his lapel pocket, folded it around his bowtie and unbuttoned the inner pocket of the suit jacket. His breath mints, lip balm and spare cash were there comfortably, so he felt around for a different pocket. In luck, he unbuttoned that one and stuffed the fabrics inside. His fingers grazed what felt like paper and he fished it out. The little card from the Etsy people. Deliberate and afraid of nothing. Right. He wanted to keep this. Didn’t want to forget it in the pocket or have it fall and slip under his desk collecting dust for the rest of the semester. He would put it in his phone case. He cleaned and changed his phone case every three months, it’d be a pleasant surprise for future Link. 

Thanking his lucky stars for not being silly drunk in this moment when he needed some dexterity to complete his mission, he undid the phone case revealing his clean, only minimally dusty phone, and something else. Another little piece of contraband: a post-it note?

He unfolded the the little piece of paper. Turning it over to reveal very familiar sloping handwriting. The neat yet chicken-scratch scribblings of one Rhett McLaughlin. So evidently his metered yet somehow haphazard scrawl. 

“ _ I love you without knowing how, or when,  _

_ or from where. I love you simply,  _

_ without problems or pride:  _

_ I love you in this way because I do not know  _

_ any other way of loving but this,  _

_ in which there is no I or you,  _

_ so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,  _

_ so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close. _ ” 

Neruda. He’d called his bluff. Link had run to Neruda, sublimating all his love shit, finding what the poet wrote about pain and anguish. Using those words to process his grief. And Rhett had reclaimed him, reclaimed Neruda, brought him back to the center, marked him a champion for love. And in so doing, let Link know that he knew. That all those times they willed their eyes to stay open to watch one more sunrise, those nights in his bed, or in the grass or in the back of his truck, curled into Rhett, his eyelashes tickling his face, breath on his forehead, on his lips, the sound of his heart in his ears, his head on his chest. They’d meant something. Meant everything. 

“Hey.” A voice from the alcove. Him. He knew. 

**Link was done trying to run away from Rhett. So he ran toward him instead.**

***

_ “The moon burns, inextinguishably beautiful”  _ \- Percy Bysshe Shelley, from The Collected Poems of P. S; “Epipsychidion,”

_ “Such is the promise of the glimpse, the magpie lure of the promising hint.” - _ Dave Gibbons, March 2013, preface to Watchmen.


End file.
